Poft. So they muft, Or do your honour injury. Iach. The chimney Is fouth the chamber; and the chimney-piece, Poft. This is a thing, Which you might from relation likewise reap; Iach. The roof o'th' chamber With golden cherubims is fretted: Th' andirons, Poft. What's this t' her honour? (10) The wager you have laid. Jach. Then, if you can [Pulling out the Bracelet. Be pale, I beg but leave to air this jewel; fee! (10) -This is her honour: Let it be granted you have seen all this, &c.] lachimo impudently pretends to have carried his Point; and, in Confirmation, is very minute in describing to the Husband all the Furniture and Adornments of his Wife's Bed-chamber. But how is fine Furniture any ways a Princess's Honour? It is an Apparatus fuitable to her Dignity, but certainly makes no part of her Character. It might have been call'd her Father's Honour, that her Allotments were proportion'd to her Rank and Quality. I am perfwaded, the Poet intended Pofthumus fhould fay;" This particular Description, which you make, "can't convince me that I have loft my Wager: Your Memo"ry is good; and fome of these Things you may have learn"ed from a Third Hand, or feen yourfelf; yet 1 expect Proofs more direct and authentick". Ithink, there is little Queltion but we ought to restore the place as I have done. -What's This t' her Heneur? ર And And now 'tis up again; it must be married Once more let me behold it: Is it That, lach. Sir, I thank her, That: She ftrip'd it from her arm, I fee her yet, it me, Poft. May be, fhe pluck'd it off To fend it me. lach. She writes fo to you? doth fhe? Poft. O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too; It is a bafilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't; let there be no honour, Where there is beauty; truth, where femblance; love, Phi. Have patience, Sir, And take your ring again: 'tis not yet won ; It may be probable, the loft it; or, Who knows, one of her women, being corrupted, Poft. Very true, And fo, I hope, he came by't;-back my ring; 'Tis true She could not lofe it; her attendants are All honourable; they induc'd to steal it! And, by a stranger!-no, he hath enjoy'd her. The cognizance of her incontinency Is this; he hath bought the name of Whore thus dearly; There, take thy hire, and all the fiends of hell Divide themfelves between you! Phi. Phi. Sir, be patient; This is not ftrong enough to be believ'd, Poft. Never talk on't; She hath been colted by him. For further fatisfying, under her breast, Poft. Ay, and it doth confirm Iach. Will you hear more? Paft. Spare your arithmetick. Count not the Turns: once, and a million! Poft. No fwearing: If you will fwear you have not done't, you lie. Thou'ft made me cuckold. Iach. I'll deny nothing. Poft. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal! I will go there, and do't i'th' Court, before Her father -I'll do fomething Phi. Quite befides The government of patience! you have won ; Iach. With all my heart. Re-enter Pofthumus. [Exit. [Exeunt. Poft. Is there no way for men to be, but women The The Dian of that time; so doth my wife And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with Might well have warm'd old Saturn-that I thought her As chafte, as unfunn'd fnow. Oh, all the Devils! All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, to vice For even They are not conftant, but are changing still; [Exit. (11 Like a full-acorn'd Boar, a churning on,] This is Mr. Pope's Reading, without any Authority. A Jermen one, in the first Editions; (fays He,) fince alter'd to a GerAnd why not, pray? Is not Westphalia a Part of Germany? And where are Boars more delicately fed, or more likely to be rank and hot after the Female, than German ones? man one. VOL. VII. L ACT SCENE, Cymbeline's Palace. Enter, in State, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and attendants. CYMBELINE. OW fay, what would Auguftus Cæfar with us? N° brance yet (whose remem Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues Than in his feats deferving it) for him, Queen. And, to kill the marvail, Shall be fo ever. Clot. There be many Cæfars, Ere fuch another Julius: Britaine is A world by't felf; and we will nothing pay Queen. That opportunity, Which then they had to take from's, to resume The na'ral Brav'ry of your Iile; which stands, With oaks unskaleable, and roaring waters; With Sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, But fuck them up to th' top mait. A kind of Conquest With thame, (The |